


the wolf and the coyote

by grab_n_growl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst and Feels, Blood and Gore, Choking, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Sex, Fist Fights, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Graphic Description of Corpses, Injury Recovery, Intimacy, M/M, NSFW, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Slurs, Some Spanish, Things get rough, Violence, all my endings are soft i promise, but it ends well, how to deal with feelings?, punches., this is a whole ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-02 03:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grab_n_growl/pseuds/grab_n_growl
Summary: It prickled along his skin, setting it aflame with sparks of energy, and it perpetually left his hackles raised when he could scent the savage's mere scent. A thrumming,throbbingpresence like the headache of whiskey-days and hefty-punches, left bruised inside and out and yet feeling utterlyplacated. That's what the fight did to you. Burned out all the emotion, thefeelingyou couldn't grasp at with any turn of tongue. There was only fingers curled into claws, teeth bared and sharp, eyes blazing and snarls a coughing, staggering drumbeat to the hits meant to wound. Meant to pain. Meant to wrought the other withagony. To batter into some semblance ofsubmission- ah, yes, that was one of the good parts. But, regardless of who came out with the least lost, you always came outbetter.But the coyote was aconstant threat.Javier was aconstant threat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> woo boy, just want to preface this with warning that there is a graphic depiction of a dead man, a dead dear and long-winding, graphic depiction of javier and john beating the shit out of each other. but have no fear, this story is planned to end soft, even if it starts out real rough!

Goddamn _coyotes._  
  
Mangey and dull things, ravenous vultures in their own right, nothing but desert pests. Pack-hoarders whose barks and howls are the only company on the open range when you're left alone and forgotten in its boughs, a million miles away from home, nothing but the cold of the dirt on your back and the sky swept full of constellations. _Beautiful_ , to some. Something _bittersweet_ in the taste of the stale breeze on the tongue, dust and lathering cracks over the skin. Tiring and invigorating in equal parts, wrapping oneself in nothing but an _honest land_  where all that there is are the hard truths of your fate that you cannot _flee from._ John found it that way. Found some kind of _peace_ in reality. Dutch liked to _talk,_ spin _tales,_ but he found himself much more a realist. Didn't have Arthur's artist eye, Hosea's opportunistic senses. The wide open range full of all its feral dangers was what suited him.  
  
Something a _wolf_ could handle. Proud and coated in the pelts of kings and queens, the picturesque perfection of an untamed wilderness. A symbol of the wild spirit of the outlaw- the _misunderstood,_ leaning upon one another in solidarity and strength. _Those_ were beautiful animals, something deep and unknown behind the hazel-wrought eyes that told far many more stories one could ever manage to roll off the tongue. But a _coyote?_ A bitter reminder of the _other side of that life._ Dirty, tired, _scavenging_ for anything in the night when the dawn couldn't quite wash its tendrils over the horizon.  
  
And, for all extensive purposes, were naughty _thieves._  
  
John remembered his first encounter with one of the sand-cloaked creatures. A lone one, nimble-legged and thin, mange scattered across the peppered flanks. Had gone in multiple times for his lunch- not much of one, just a can of beans Dutch had sent him out with that they'd scrounged up from the abandoned homestead on the prairie they were holed in. It was one of the first few times since their most recently robbery that he'd been allowed out _alone._ Allowed to stretch his legs and _run_ to the wild, howling to the skies and _free again._ Cautioned to keep a low profile, the feral creature had taken to the cacti-dotted, rolling sands of wind-carved rock. What he _knew._ Had set up camp, a little tent of a thing, to escape the heat of the midday.  
  
And found himself here, bickering and snarling with a fucking _coyote._  
  
It always seemed to dance out of his grasp, feet too quick, tongue lolling from its thin, carrion-stinking maw like this was the funniest thing it had ever seen. Him, wild-tangled and fierce, attempting to shoo it back to whatever goddamn _hole_ it crawled out of. Because he was no in-way about to get _bit_ by that thing, not unless he could have a go first. His thoughts had trailed to the man in the bar he'd met a year or so ago, coiled up on the worn counter and hunched over, laughing something awful. Regaling some gallant, clearly _fabricated_ , story of how he'd fought off an entire pack of fully-grown wolves just an hour before to the stupid, doe-eyed spectators who were too drunk to see past the lies.  
  
It had only made him roll his eyes, tongue lapping at the glass of whiskey he'd managed to steal when the bartender had his back turned. _Dutch_ could tell a real story, smoke _all_ these sons-a-bitches with his tales of woe and triumph. And those ones were _true._ But what was it to him? He didn't care for the story, no. Instead had keened his senses, ears perked and shadowed eyes _watching_ as the man had become more and more red, sweating profusely like some heat-stuck pig, baking in his own clothes. Had excused himself for just a few moments- and John had gotten that curious _twitch_ in his stomach that he hardly ever said no to.   
  
Didn't know _how_ to.  
  
Had followed the trail of his prey down the corridor and out the back door, cool night air soothing the sweat-slick of his own hairs across his skin, gaze adjusting _feral_ and _seeking._ The man had not gone far, you see. Had bundled off to the side a few steps off the doorstep, heaving something awful onto the ground. And John had waited, waited, _waited,_ as a patient predator did. Like a _wolf did._ Waited for the man to crumple to the ground before making his move, nimble fingers quick and slender as they snaked into the pockets- _easy pickings._ And he had intended that to be the end of it, until he _realized..._ the man wasn't breathing, not anymore. Had gone still and boneless, already beginning to _reek_ like his body had already been rotting even when there was a heartbeat in it. Walking dead. It had struck John dumb(er) for a moment, aghast and confused. How could he have just _dropped dead?_ There wasn't anything of poison in that alcohol. Careful steps, w _ary steps,_ as he fought the vile stench of death clinging to the stranger's face and noted the _blood._  
  
Down his chin, pooling in the dirt, like something had simply... _ruptured._ Frothy bile a spit-up dribble like the sign of choking, veins of the neck burning prominent against the purpled throat like the outlaws who swung day in, day out for every town's entertainment. And as his gaze wandered he saw the telltale sign of a bandage wrapped around a forearm, _God,_ did it smell somethin' _awful._ Putrid flesh had peeled from the edges, flaking off in horrid scales of bloated whiteness, yellow and green and red pouring a disgusting display of infection and disease. A mere, delicate shifting of the wrappings released the rest of the puss to the dirt and just beneath its festered mass lay the remains of a _dog bite._ A simple _bite_ had gotten infected that fast over the course of a mere _hour?_  
  
John tried to keep an eye on any unruly pooches after that. And that _absolutely_ extended to the coyote who had once more taken a dive into his patience, nipping at his heels and watching him howl in rage at its wily cleverness. That was until he'd gotten ahold of his gun, brandishing it silver and worn in the pest's direction and promptly pistol-whipped it at the side of its head, satisfied in the solid _crack_ of it and the whimpering screech it emitted. Had pointed the barrel down at the writhing, snarling creature with a growl of his own, fully prepared to _end it-_ and stopped. Saw those golden-hued eyes like a flecked, disease sunrise peering right back at him, fearless and _goading._  
  
And he thought of another _coyote_ in his life and snapped his teeth, swinging sharply at the canine until it deemed him far too much work for his worth and lopped off down the hill in search of easier prey.  
  
Yes, _easier._ John was no easy prey. Not to this coyote, or _any other._ Unfortunately for him, he could not get rid of the other mangey delinquent trotting at his heels and pushing his patience to the very edges of its tethers and lighting a fuse already far too short for someone of his age.  
  
It prickled along his skin, setting it aflame with sparks of energy, and it perpetually left his hackles _raised_ when he could scent the savage's mere _scent_. A thrumming, _throbbing_ presence like the headache of whiskey-days and hefty-punches, left bruised inside and out and yet feeling utterly _placated._ That's what the fight did to you. Burned out all the emotion, the _feeling_ you couldn't grasp at with any turn of tongue. There was only fingers curled into claws, teeth bared and sharp, eyes blazing and snarls a coughing, staggering drumbeat to the hits meant to _wound._ Meant to _pain._ Meant to wrought the other with _agony_. To batter into some semblance of _submission-_ ah, yes, that was one of the good parts. But, regardless of who came out with the least lost, you always came out _better._  
  
But the coyote was a _constant threat.  
  
Javier _was a _constant threat._  
  
The goddamn creature from the fields of Mexico, all weathered skin and sharp, long lines. Unpleasant. _Foreign_ , in every sense. He was _nothing_ like anyone or anything John had ever met and  _that_ made him all the more dangerous. All the more capable of catching him unaware, vulnerable, and sink his teeth into the fragile skin of his throat and _snap-  
  
Snap- _like his neck almost did, once. When it had been strung up in the gallows, so short they'd needed to garner a stepping stool for him. Standing there, thinking that very moment was going to be his last- John had no intention of returning to any kind of memory of that feeling. Not today, or any other day. So he kept Javier at a distance, didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. And in a small space such as where they'd found themselves recently- some ancient, dilapidated lean of what might've once been a small homestead... well, that wasn't a lengthy distance. Not by a longshot, no matter how well John could get his muscles to cooperate into wrenching bodies _smaller than his_ out of his way.  
  
Knew better than to try it with the likes of Javier. Ever since they'd first met there had been an unspoken _challenge,_ toyed at on both ends but never fully _connected._ What exactly the terms of the challenge were, John didn't know and frankly, he didn't imagine the quiet shadow of a man knew either. But it was there since the very first moment their eyes had met; the stranger covered in dirt and grime, ragged shirt hanging off his skeletal remains and looking like he had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, settled quiet on the woodworked floor while Dutch attempted to placated an exasperated Hosea into letting his new _find_ stay with them- and John, leaned up against the wall and as antisocial as could come. Staring down, condescending and lording, over the thin frame of the man below him, glowering and with the hint of warning _sneer_ twitching at his lips. The rat smelled just like one, rotten and sweat-slicked, and he was covered in all manner of filth that one tended to be in the outlaw life and yet many strived to try to _hide._ Not exactly like John could truly judge, he always tended to disappear when they managed to gather enough water for a wash, but at least he wore it with some semblance of _pride._ Sour-scent clogged his senses, welled in his eyes, whenever the stranger merely _panted_ too expressively. And yet he found his spot shaken, _shifted,_ when Javier had peered through the greasy, lackluster tangled strands of his black-inked hair to level the darkest eyes John had ever seen upon him, _unyielding_ and  _insubordinate._  
  
There lay a tempest beneath the starved layer of gloss over those eyes, strong despite his weak, and it had taken John so far aback he'd been forced into a showy retreat with teeth bared and a growl as he let the nails of his paws clip across the floor to finish his writing lessons that Dutch _decreed_ he needed to finish.  
  
The coyote had made his stance clear- and the wolf could take it or leave it.  
  
John wasn't quite sure which he picked, but he wasn't about to go down without a _fight._ That's what he did best and it wasn't about to change. It was he was born to do, and would die doing. But Javier? No, he most certainly would _not_ submit to a mutt of that caliber. Death could come in many ways, many forms, but that cretin was _not_ going to be on the other end of the barrel. He would not meet his end this way.   
  
So had their beginning bloomed with the smell of _danger_ in the air, as delectable as the most expensive treat, and yet tasting bloodcurdlingly _sharp_ , sour blooming over the tongue a bitter, soaking gag.  


 

...  
" John, pray tell _why_ do you look at that man like he's personally shit on you your entire life? "

 

It had been _months._ Weeks of bedding with a predator in their midst, quiet and a pure symbol of despair and foreboding whenever he silently slinked through a room. John wouldn't be half-surprised if a murder of crows and vultures dogged Javier's steps when he roamed the open range because they _knew-_ they _knew_ what the man was. A creature just like them, diseased and lavished in trickery. Not that the rest of them were much different in that aspect, but they weren't _dirty._ Not like the figure currently perched in the corner of the cabin, disarmingly slight and _hushed._ His mere presence was like the very eyes of those funny crosses the religious put on their walls, their Savior in the picture of death peering down at them all. Judging and observant, hiding everything and knowing everything.

It kept the wolf on-edge, kept its hackles raised and thick fur _bristled_ in preparation for the day those eyes would finally _close_ for just a moment too long. Just long enough for his teeth to find purchase-

 

" _John._ "

 

The look in Hosea's slanted gaze was picking apart the feral man curled up by his dirt-stained windowpane, having long since devolved from writing practice letters and instead creeped into a mass of black lines compounded and tangled within one another in a ball of void. And the look quite reminded him that the older man was an animal just like the rest of them- a silver fox, pretty and intelligent and sly. Courting danger was his speciality and his mere hobby and needling at his gangly wolf of a son was as simple as a passing wave. And there was no escaping those eyes, no matter how much he wished to shy away, so he lowered his head and grumbled into his paper scribbles,

 

" Acts like he's _better than he is._ "

" How so? "

 

Ever since Javier had joined their motley crew of degenerates, he'd slowly curbed _himself_ , his  _tendencies_ , into emulating the black-winged savior that had fed him, clothed him, brought him to a roof and warmth. Dutch was an elegant man in a way that one wouldn't expect from an _outlaw_ , a title he spoke with such pride and pleasure. There was a sort of _charm_ about him that made people want to follow him, _believe_ in him, and he wore it beautifully. And maybe that reached into people wanting to _be like him_ as well. Sure it was. But John didn't expect to actually _see it_ , but see it he did. With the _coyote._ The man who'd come to them in nothing but ragsheet and dirt had been taken out by the tag-team swindlers to get him new clothes, to "look a better part", and he'd come back with quite a well-put visual of crisp-collared shirt and velvet vest. The clothes were for him to fill into- after all, he'd been starved for months, he needed time to regain his strength and the room to do so- and they looked like something Dutch would've worn.

While it was true that he'd picked them out for their new little family member, the point stood. Because Javier seemed to _envelope it_ into himself, the _idea._ The way he followed Dutch's every move with the reverent twinkle of a young child confronted with his hero that he's looked up to since his birth. The way he began to stand with less of a cautious slump to his shoulders, balancing his spine straighter and shoulders set back and bringing a whole new vision of _confidence_ to his figure. Took an indescribable amount of time in managing his appearance- a single speck of dirt upon him had to be wiped away immediately- John had never seen an outlaw's hands so _clean,_ boots so _shiny._ It left a horrible taste in the back of his throat to see the snake slithering about like a copy of his mentor in every sense, every way.

Foreign tongue attempting to grasp at what English they could teach him, riveted upon Dutch's muscles working through the pronunciations with him. Handwriting adopting a feminine, delicate curve to the wild tag-alongs of his letters, something John had sneered at every time he saw them-

Swallowed down the bile when he caught a glimpse of Dutch's handwriting looking _almost the same._

It burned something deep in John's chest and he'd once been seized with such a rage he'd snatched the parchment from beneath Javier's nose and shredded it before him, smug and wanting to _hurt._ Felt something sickly _pleasured_ when that _impeccable, perfect, shiny new toy_ had stood up with a small against the table, those eyes _wild again_ and his lips twitching with desire to curl and spit. Instead, he peered beneath the shadows cast by the ridges of his visage and murmured quiet threat,

 

_Watch it._

 

And John had felt something so _wonderful_ that he couldn't stop the snarling laugh that had bubbled out of his chest at that moment. To see Javier, so desperately trying to pretend he was anything _but_ just a dusty, mangey creature forgotten by the world now falling right back into his ways and was in fact just as _dirty_ and _broken_ as the rest of them. And he didn't hold back his teeth this time, bared and cruel,

 

_I don't need to watch my back, mutt. Least I know how to defend it._

 

A sharp jab that had Javier's nostrils flaring furiously, a black fire pouring charcoal smoke from his gaze- none of them had missed the lengthy, thin scar that traced the man's throat. Something that had meant to _kill_ and boy, how John wished to meet the person who hadn't dipped their knife in deep enough and teach them how to really _twist-_

There was a ragged inhale in front of him, expelling through clenched teeth, and the man had leaned forward across the table and his tongue had _slithered_ over his lips and John had found himself watching the movement through his periphery, dark eyes in silent war-

 

_Not well. Heard you almost got hung._

 

The sneer was audible and the suddenness of Javier's scent permeating his senses, clogging his awareness, had the wolf caught up before it could spit a retort through its canines. Something smokey- the man smoked cigarettes a lot, he'd noticed. Not a brand he recognized, Spanish lettering up the carton, and one he never told of where he'd found them. There was a sort of sweetness to the scent, disarming and warm like the taste of whiskey, and it clung to his breath, his hair, his _throat._ One John had wished to crush time and time again and yet had never done. Something like fruit, something his nose had rarely gotten to smell in his life, a pleasant coil in the air like delicate lace. Choking in all the best ways, floating over his tongue and sinking into his own skin, bathed in its husky tendrils. Had his awareness fogging, leaving him _vulnerable,_ just long enough for the coyote to get away with blood a decoration on his lips from where he'd sunk his teeth into a sore spot the wolf hadn't even known it'd had.

Left John _standing there_ , blinking stupidly and unaware.

 

" ... He's just a _greaser._ Can hardly speak a word a' English. Pretends he aint dirty but he _is._ "

 

Hosea had raised a thin-tapered eyebrow at that, gaze careful and head tilted like a fox listening to the minute rustles of its prey beneath layers of snow-blanket. _Found them,_ pouncing swift and opportunistic-

 

" Like you? Let's not forget who we are, John. We aren't in a place to cast judgment like that. "

 

And John had simply glowered and mumbled, turned his head away to peer moodily through the cracked glaze through the strands of hair he'd let simply run wild in his face. Didn't care enough to really manage it- what was the point? It was going to get dirty all over again, anyway, in this line of work. Dutch was never exactly the guy rolling around in the mud in bar brawls poured out into the street, the one scrambling hard-pressed on trains, wormed through dirt beneath abandoned buildings to escape the hellfire of bullets upon them. Was more... the man to make an _entrance._ And John and Arthur tended to be the ones who paved the way for him, laid down the red bricks and hoisted his banners. So he could get away with looking _cleaned_ , it was part of his act. But John? Didn't deny what he was- a wolf, feral in every way, and would always be. The "high society" would never fit him- he would never fit _it,_ and that was just the way. He didn't deny he was dirty in that sense.

But Javier was _filthy _because he _denied the truth_ of himself. That he was nothing better than a mutt!

It made John's tongue spasm and curl in his mouth, rasping rough against the backs of his own teeth and delighting in their ragged sharpness arching to meet his touch. They would have their day, soon, he hoped. But for now, the look he festered under beneath Hosea's flickering eyes was burning a hole into his skull and he was pinned, unable to flee like he wished-

 

" Lucky for you, you'll have plenty of time to get to know him. We're planning to hit a small ranch near here and you'll be working with him on raiding the house while Dutch, Arthur, and I run distraction. "

 

Ah, _fuck._

John didn't have to murmur his consent because he didn't have to, didn't have the power to. He followed orders like a _good boy_  and he'd be damned if the fuckin' _coyote_ got in his way. Resolved, he was, to simply have to show the mongrel its place in action, instead. All the more the time for tensions to run thin, emotions wild, and the perfect opportunity to rid of _something_ , some part of the chips of ember and ice littering his chest like shards of broken glass. And he'd be damned to let that pass him by, no. 

_Fine,_ he could work with Javier-

_with_ that _promise_  to himself.

But, damn, was it hard.

Hours later when evening had begun to cast its vermillion veil across the desert, they began their move. Dutch and Hosea dressed to their very best, all velvet and straight-pinned ties and glittering eyes, while John, Arthur, and Javier remained in darker, less flashy clothing. After all, how could you rob a house blind looking like a circus freak? Well... Dutch and Hosea had managed to crack that way over their knees, but the wolf had not. Wasn't his way, would never be his way. But there was something absolutely infuriating in how the mutt had looked. It was simple clothing, simple clothes! And yet something the _greaser_ had made himself look- _look-_

... John didn't know the words for it! Didn't have it in him to spit it out so he contented to fuming quietly as they rode across the golden path paved for them by the setting sun's warm, luxurious fur. Resigned to his fate of having to be next to the hound, made to _play nice_ \- oh, how the idea made his teeth ache and skin burn. Petulant anger an anxious friend coiled in the pit of his stomach, singing his guts, but what could he do? Not much at the moment, not when they stopped on the hill overlooking the sweet little place, ignorant of its demise. Had been told to wait for Dutch and Hosea to begin their act of _ware sellers_  for them to come in the back door they'd scoped a few days earlier, to shatter the locks and inhale every image of royalty they could find when they were there. As they waited, John had made the mistake of turning around-

And eyes befell Javier, silhouetted by the setting sun, shadows cast deep and dark against the weather of skin. Casting narrow tendrils over the sharp jagged of his cheekbone, red-hot glow just barely glinting off the liquid black of his gaze like wells of ink spilled over, catching the flame in their grasp. The dust kicked up from their ride had settled on the man's skin and the crimson touch of the horizon had set them alight like the prickle of diamonds hidden in the sand, a flustered flurry of shaved treasure, skin glittering every _breath_ the man took, every shift of his muscle. And John was hit square in the chest with the desire to press his fingers in, just to see the purple and gold imprints he'd leave behind-

What the _fuck?_

He was so caught off-guard by his own thoughts that he hadn't realized Javier had spoken his name, instead staring dumbly back at the man with his brain running a mile a minute trying to catch up to the untouchable race of his thoughts all scrambled and tangled. And it hurt even more when he did not see the same level of _fury_ looking back at him. Javier just looked... _Javier._ Cold, detached. Apathetic and perhaps mildly corrosive in the condescending glint to his gaze-

 

" Stay sharp, mutt. Don't want ya' gettin' scared by a squeaky floorboard and _tuck tail._  "

 

He feels only mild satisfaction at the dangerous _narrow_ to the flame-caught gaze upon him, energy sizzling between them like the taste of storm in the air, electrifying and throbbing. But that was all it amounted to as Arthur leveled them both with that blue-flecked glower of his and a rasp of his tongue,

 

" Shut _up_ , both of you. Let's go. "

 

A moment of hesitance, of _goading_ , between the two canines before each relented to their perspective spaces, distance both too short and too _long._ Each with just enough _leash_ around the throat, pulling just _tight_ enough to keep their tongues in their mouths and their lips over their teeth. _For now._

Dutch and Hosea had _terrible_ accents, something about tryin' to find a safe place to stay that night to protect their _wares_. What wares? Oh, something _new_ , something _grand,_ you see. Oh, but terrible tragedy! Their wagon had a broken wheel just down the road! So desperate for help, they'd come all the way up here just to _beg_ for mercy from the resident fellows. And, of course, they had the man and his son utterly wrapped around their fingers, stringing along beautifully. Picture-perfect, and what a delicious opportunity for those with keen eye and wandering hands. It was easy to unlock the back porch's doorframe, to slip in without a sound. To prowl for everything and anything useful- food cans left out on the countertops, candleholder off the table, fresh fruits in a basket, a packet of silver tapped to the inside of the charcoal-worn stove fire. Arthur's gesture was clear even in the pitch black- to check _upstairs_ , where most of the jewelry and money clips usually lay.

They fought even at the staircase- couldn't last ten minutes without it. They'd sneered at who would get to go up first, like _children,_  and they both knew but they didn't give a damn. Tensions too _high_ , heartbeats beginning to thrum with the adrenaline and pleasure of lapping up gold that _wasn't yours._ Alas, eventually, Javier managed to sneak a light _kick_ to John's shin, just enough to have him _hissing,_ and descended the staircase fast enough the wolf couldn't catch his tail in it's jaws. 

Fucking _cheat._

John was quick on his heel, growling low in his throat, and when it just about looked they were _just_ incensed enough to get into an actual argument, they _froze-_

Oh.

_Damn._

It would seem the lovely father had been busy recently for a little boy stared open-mouthed and aghast at the forms of the two black-silhouetted men standing at the banister. Tension, _tension_ , wrought over the tongue and _what the hell were they supposed to do now?_

 

" Aye, _chico_. Don't be scared, we- ah, you see, we are... good guys. Good guys. "

 

The youth, helpfully, had yet to flee or raise an alarm. Still seemed lost in the surprise of seeing a _stranger_ in your _home-_ boy, didn't John know how that felt. And as Javier crouched to the floor to level the dark of his gaze at the height of the boy's blown-wide saucers, John departed from his flank to carefully pick around the room. Might as well take advantage of distraction, right? And that he did. Snake-hands slithering into the chests, nose sniffing out money and coin in clothes pockets, hands dribbling with jewelry he shoved into his bag-

 

" Your father, he, uh, gave us  _permiso_ to be here. Taking, uh- "

 

The soothe suave of his tone faltered in his grasping for English, for something  _expressive,_ and John was stepping in before he was even aware of his own maw moving,

 

" Charitable donations, kid. Your pa is a good guy, helpin' poor folk like us. "

 

Off to the next room he went- how much time did they have left? Arthur hadn't fetched them yet, surely they had a _little_ more time. Just enough for him to clean the bourdeoirs of their cherishable goods, all cleaned and easy to fetch a beautiful price. And just as it crossed his mind, for a mere _second_ , that this was the easiest catch they'd had in months- he heard it. The telltale _growl_ at his back, hair against his arm rising in alarm, mouth puffing great huffs of mist to the cool desert air as he turned _slow, slow._ Man, he really hadn't fancied getting ripped apart by a Coonhound, but he imagined considering he was about a wild animal as one could get, it fit him-

Oh. _Two_ Coonhounds, noted.

 

" Hey. Javier, we got a problem here- "

 

 

A single step too far, too jerky, too _quick,_ and the beady black pair of eyes ferocious and alarmed upon him _sparked_ and the beautiful animals pitched their heads and _howled._ It cut through the still night air like a burning knife through a slab of tender meat, deep and shattering. He's hardly aware he's moving until he crashes into the coyote at the banister, eyes meeting eyes, and for once the _energy_ between them was not one against each other. A clamber, ungraceful, down the stairs and confronted with Arthur with his hands around the father's throat- shouts, howls, _noise everywhere-_

The son had grabbed a gun, pointed it at _Arthur-_

John was on him in an instant, fingers tangled in the hair and pulling so _hard_ his hands came out grasping strands-

Watches as the boy drops to the floor _wailing_ \- the dogs fighting themselves in the race to reach the bottom, _barking_ and _howling-  
_  
A gunshot whistles by his ear, leaving a sharp _ring_ behind, and more follow like the roar of a tempest rain as a dark shadow falls over the woodwork, black eyes wild and _searching-_

Dutch was yelling something, loud, but John can't hear him, not when one of the hounds gets their teeth sunk into one of Javier's well-polished boots and he's swearing in Spanish and  _kicking and Hosea is there_ just as he breaks free and the pair of them break into a _chasing stride_ out the back door and hightail it into the moonwashed desert and brambled trees-

Fight, _fight_ through the thorns and briars, ripping at their clothes and skin, their blood a beading trail and the _howls follow_ -

Up, _up and over the hill, get the fuck over the hill-_

John can't tell his left from his right, up from his down, just that he's moving and Javier's form is a passing shadow in front of his eyes, darting as fast as his legs can carry him, and the coyote is a beacon the wolf is following for its _life-_

 

" John, John, _here-_ "

 

Can't get himself to stop fast enough, slamming into Javier's flank just hard enough to feel every muscle press against his through torn cloth, the hushed hiss of irritation. He's pointing at something on the ground, crouching down, and John has no choice but to slather himself in the viscera handed to him. It's a deer, a dead deer, rotting cold and slimy on the pit of the forest floor, alone and forgotten. The stench of it permeates his senses, cuts through the clear-fog of adrenaline and through the gaps in the trees he watches the moon strike the jutting bones with white fire. Meat still hung from it in thick, globular masses of blue and purple, muscle and organ breaking apart in his hands at every touch. And every touch spewed more and more of absolute gore into the air, enough his tongue curled behind his teeth and his jaw clenched so hard he almost felt his bone crack. It's too much, _too much_ , and his eyes well with frozen liquid as Javier cut off a membranous cyst of bloated, putrid white-red and dumped it right over his head-

They had to, _they had to move-_

And off they went, stumbling through the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath their feet, nothing but the sound of their caught breaths and their heels hitting the ground and the _howls -_

Fell into a sprint when they broke from the treeline, hauling ass across the open clearings of grass and low brush, dipping in and out of crevices and rocks, no direction in mind aside from _away._ And they didn't stop until the cacophonous roars at their heels ebbed into echoes, then to rings captured in their own adrenaline-fed ears, and then to the _silence._

_Silence._

The desert is cold at this time of night, mysterious and all-knowing, when they pause in the open air of a sanded rock ridge, out-of-sight and out-of-mind. Nothing, for a few moments-

Even after an experience that very well could have cost them their lives, they can't even wait to catch their breaths before they're on each other again-

 

" _Estas loco?_  - You _stupid?..._ Que estuviste haciendo? You- could- could have _killed-_ "

" Aw, shut- shut your _fuckin' trap_ , _greaser..._ I was doing my _job-_ "

" No! _Mierda!_ Idiota, you were bein' _stupid, stupid like always-_ "

" You're just angry cause ya' got your fuckin' _boots dirty._ Sorry I ruined your outfit, princess!- "

 

The tension was rising, _rising_ , and it was cold and hot all at once, a painful and heavy burden cracking his ribs beneath its weight and spilling out from his lungs and with the beat of his heart and every word he spills just makes it feel _worse_ and _worse-_

 

" My _clothes_? I don't care! Don't care! _You_ almost got Arthur _killed_ \- "

" Oh, _save it,_ fuckin' _cur_. He was _fine_ , and I was _fine._ You were the one playing hide-and-seek on the stairwell- "

" What did you _want me to do, John?_ Kill the kid? I'm not- "

" _What?_ You're not  _what?_ An outlaw? A _murderer_? In case you haven't _noticed,_ our whole thing is robbin' and killin'- "

" And _helping_ gente inocente. What? Would you have _killed him_? "

 

There is a brief _catch_ in their clambering to get overheard over the other, just long enough for the coyote to bear its teeth and _bite-_

 

" I wouldn't be surprised if you did,  _coño repugnante_. Dirty dog, _hijo de un loba_ , son of a _whore_ and a _good-for-nothing, hombre analfabeto_. Even the ground doesn't want your body! When you die, you'll go up in flames- the ground won't let the likes of you _rot in it!_ "

 

_**Silence.** _

And there is a single moment where John _really looks_ at Javier. Sees him, just as he is. Panting into the air, steam rising from his open maw and skin in great clouds of smoke, teeth bared sharp and jagged from where his lips had pulled back in seething rage. His hair was a tangled mess and a clip of rotten flesh lay mangled in the strands, stale and bleached white, and his face is slathered in messy sprays of purpled blood and gore drips in pieces across his heaving, shuddering frame. His eyes are _burning_  like twin stars, blazing like a streak of lightning forever frozen in place, vibrating with pure _energy._ The cloth on his frame is more rags than anything, tears in the denim jeans where they'd caught on brambles and rocks in their rush- there is blood, a fresh wound, just peeking from beneath his knee-

John can feel his own heartbeat stilling for a moment, a single second, just like the first, bare feeling of an oncoming wave's froth first touch upon your fingertips-

And then it's _crashing_ down around them and the wolf is _howling_ with a vicious roar torn to the skies and he was on Javier in a second-

In the middle of the desert, alone and cold and bloodied, they really were nothing more than _animals_ aiming to maim and maul and _hurt._ John catches his fingers in the coyote's hair just as Javier's viscera-stained fingernails lash out at his face, raking long lines down the side of his face and leaving blooming, angry-red welts and he pays it back- a single punch to the man beneath his, shattering against his cheekbone. They're growling and roaring, spitting and hissing, and kick up a cloud of dust like two warring bucks which, in many ways, they were. Nails ripped across John's face again and again, enough they cut into his lip and he felt the burst of blood spark from his tongue and he's _yelling_ , they both are. He's hitting every square inch of Javier he can reach, punching into the abdomen as hard as he can just as Javier hits him with a fist to the side of his head, so, _so hard_  that there are stars bursting in his brain and he _falters-_

Falters for a mere _second_ and then Javier is the one on _him,_ fists hammering him again and again, cutting rips and bruises into his face and chest-

He turns his head away one moment, turns back the next, and _sinks_ his teeth into the meat of Javier's forearm, feeling copper, hot and choking, flood over his tongue and the coyote _shrieks_ like he's never heard before when it attempts to take its arm back and the gash is just cut _deeper, longer-_

One of Javier's knuckles gets John right in the eye, pressing against the bulb and slamming into the bridge of his nose and he's forced to let go of the flesh in his maw to breath when the hit breaks his nose with a crinkling series of _cracks,_ whistling a strangled noise. Even with an eye shut tight in agony, he manages to flail hard enough he dislodges the other from his perch, the toe of his boot punting him directly in the stomach. Javier _wheezes_ something terrible, blows falling short, and John's knuckles meet the line of his jaw and cheek so hard he isn't sure the resounding _crack_ is from the other's bone breaking or his own knuckles _shattering_ , bursting an ugly wound across the man's cheek and it dribbles onto John's face _-_

The coyote stumbles off to the side, face crashing into the dirt as it moans and whines weakly, blood and spittle a trickle from its gasping, hiccuping maw desperately trying to regain function of its diaphragm while the wolf gingerly rolls to the side, thick crimson a steady drip from its nose, left eye stinging and face _burning_. And they _hover_ , both trapped in a space of attempting to get up and _not being able to_ -

He isn't able to get himself up fast enough, _not fast enough-_

Javier is a heavy weight at his back, hands wrapping around his throat from behind and _hauling_ backwards, choking in the tightness of the grasp and he _thrashes_ with every bit of strength left in his body. Manages to twist around _just enough_ in the hold, slippery with blood both theirs and not, and he's spitting Javier's blood into his face and _digging deep-_

In the glow of the moonlight he can just manage to see through the haze of red in his vision, he catches the scar, and though he winces and _heaves_ with his restricted air, he gets just close enough to bare his teeth and _sink them right into the throat he'd always wanted to **crush** -_

Javier's tightening grip _halts_ as John's teeth pierce through his sensitive flesh, thickness flooding his maw and tongue again but he  _won't let go this time_ , and they're at a standstill. Both are barely breathing- one to avoid further tear in his skin, the other because he really just couldn't take in enough with the vice around his windpipe. Neither one speaks. Exhausted, _afraid_ , of what exactly, neither is quite sure. But, slowly, the grip around his throat loosens and slackens, and there is a moment where John considers biting _that much harder_ \- and finds he's hit with such a sense of revolt and disgust at the idea that he has to let go. They're both too tired to rock away from one another. John can only collapse into Javier's chest, half sitting-up, limbs tangled and awkward and surprisingly not broken, though very much bruised and ripped. And they both remain there, heaving and panting and shaking. Until John tries to move, _whimpers softly and brokenly_ , and Javier shifts with him, careful and quiet. A hand comes up to his jaw, hooks under the bone and lifts his head up and all he can do is follow it- he's so dizzy he's seeing two of everything, and Javier is still hiccuping and swaying like a drunkard. But when his bloodied, bruised fingertips come forward this time, they are more a _caress-_

That is, of course, until they travel to his nose. They find purchase, dig in, and _twist_ , and it takes the rest of John's strength to cry out as his nose is snapped back into place. Blood runs a new flood down his lips and chin, but Javier doesn't seem to mind it, pressing the edge of his palm up to at least _try_ to clog it and John catches sight of the rippled gash his own teeth had sunk into the man's forearm. It's still bleeding, ragged and ugly-looking, and through his cloud of thick fog he manages to open his split lips and gurgle a ragged whisper quietly,

 

" ... 'M sorry. "

 

A weak gesture to the torn flesh and Javier's inhale is a broken _wheeze_ , in a way John has never heard before, and it prompts him to crane his neck to look up. And he meets _scared eyes_ , reflecting his own, one swollen oddly because of the purpling, long gash ripped into an abused, bruised cheekbone. It drips blood down the side of his face, bottom lip split on one side, and his hair is a mess and John's fingers still grasp a few of the strands. And they just...

Sit.

For a long while, wrapped in one another, carefully regaining their breath as best they can with their inflicted injuries. Lay there until their lungs even out and their heartbeats settle into that same, everyday rhythm, like nothing had ever happened. Long enough the hurt has trailed off into white noise in the back of their minds, only an undercurrent to their attention on the fact this is the closest they've even been when they _aren't fighting._ Pressed together, skin-on-skin, and John finally manages to get a whiff of air through his nose-

Javier's scent is everywhere again. It's all over him, soaked into his skin, when blood had met blood, and no one could tell the difference as to who it belonged to. Idly, aimlessly, he thought of how similar that made them. That they weren't so _different_  on the inside. The cigarette smoke is a pleasant hint in the crook of Javier's neck where his blood had stopped throbbing and the simplest _pulse_ of his arteries in his throat seemed to dislodge delicate sprays of the scent into John's senses. Fruit, some kind of fruit, again. It hangs over the coppery, metal tang of the crimson covering them, tropical and unique and _familiar._ It's so familiar, the whiskey spice in his hair, the breaths of tobacco lingering in his facial hair-

It has him moving, slow, and the fact that Javier immediately moves to meet his eye is... is _a lot._ For some reason, that simple twitch, that _desire to see eachother,_ meant a stupid amount. _Weighed_ in his chest, something different yet akin to the burning pain he'd felt before they'd let their tension break on one another. And they peer, black against black, into one another's eyes and _see_. Simply look inside, defenses completely broken down and spirits held wide open for the other to see, to recognize everything that they were and could be. And there was something there- a fire, again. But it is not one of a blazing path of destruction and turmoil, spewing choking, charcoal smoke into the lungs. No, this was something... delicate. Like the fluttering of candlelight over a desk at midnight, soft like a hummingbird's flutter, and painfully intimate. 

He's never felt something like it before.

It was far too... gentle, for someone like him. For something like what they'd just done, damn near killing eachother over... _what?_

Some tension that John just hadn't been able to let go. Hadn't been able to redirect, divert, redo. No, he just barreled ahead, and he realized that he may be a wolf, but he had the brain of a man. A stupid one. And Javier, he was a coyote still, but that made him all the more beautiful and clever and... not John. A parallel and a cross-over with him. And the thought, the _realization_ , that he genuinely could've killed Javier- could've killed _eachother_ \- burns shame deep into his stomach until he's shaking with its entirety. The chest beneath his swollen face shudders quietly, some kind of sound trying to bubble its way up, as though _questioning_  and John manages to get his lips to part again,

 

" ... I wish... I was different. "

 

The bones still beneath him, inviting a continuation, which he does with every shift of muscle a painful reminder of his mistakes,

 

" Wish I weren't _stupid_. 'M bad. 'M awful. No better... than a dog. And I... deserve to die... like one too. Son of a whore and a drunk- "

 

His laughter, self-deprecating and ragged, is wetter than he meant it to be, and he is _agonizingly_ aware of fingers crackling slow and gentle through his greased, sweat-slicked hair. Hears Javier's joints snap with every movement, shaking lightly, but they don't pull away, and it just makes it _worse again-_

 

" You're not... not a coyote. You're a man. Better man than me... Than I'll ever be, and... and I'm _sorry._ I don't know what's wrong with me, doubt I ever will. But this is... just the way I am. And I'm sorry I pushed all my anger on to you, because you fought _back_ and I wanted that feeling, whatever you want to call it. But it shouldn't have happened... Javier, I'm _sorry_. "

 

There is a shivering breath in his ear, Javier's words spoken broken and quiet as much as he is,

 

" I didn't mean it. What I said. I didn't- I... was angry. Scared. Felt like I was that... _dirty greaser kid_  all over again, just begging for food. I just wanted to be something _else_ , now that I have the... uh...  _oportunidad_ to be something else. But I should know better than anyone, not to judge because of your parents. Where you come from. I'm sorry. "

 

John manages a weak laugh, shakes his head, and it jostles their figures painfully, wincing gingerly at the stretch of his skin against his wounds, crusted with blood and who knows what else. The breaths against his ear shift sharply, and then the other is _moving_ , slowly creaking them apart, swaying and arms intertwined in support. Like cattails by the river, slowly rocking back-and-forth, before they manage to _get up._

Slow, _slow..._

The journey is a painful one, but eventually they gather their legs and, after ensuring their lonesome, limp down the hill towards the small, rickety town they'd passed days earlier. Someplace quiet, someplace no one knew them and would never know them, and it was _perfect_. Beneath the soak of the moon, the two stumbled gingerly into the old hotel, John managing to get one of the stolen money clips from his bag to slap on the table. The receptionist looked damn scared for his life, curled up and defensive in his place, but the squinting, sickened glares leveled upon him kept his mouth _shut_  and to gratefully accept the cash with submissive _bow._

Up, up the stairs they go. Together, this time, carefully helping one another up the stairs. Javier's scrapped calves had begun to sting and catch terribly beneath the remainder of his jeans and John still won't open his eye, having to contend with only one for the time being. It's a haze of pained fog, but the red mist had long left them both, leaving them broken and exhausted. And if John was only slightly more feral, he would've collapsed to the bed in a single instance and attempt to sleep off the burning in his face, the throb of his nose- but he isn't, and he strives to keep going just a little more. Hangs off the side of the boudoir and watches as Javier gingerly works his own boots off, careful of the gash to his forearm as he picks his vest and shirt off. And John just... _stares_. Stares as the man shakily strips out of his blood-soaked, viscera-painted clothes into nothing but his skin and bones- there is a deep swelling of bruises across his abdomen where the wolf had dug in, darkening the skin into purpled splotches. And John finds he can't pin down his thoughts- _any_ thoughts. There are clouds, clouds everywhere in his head, and he feels like he'll float right off into nothingness if he lets go of the wood near bursting under the crushing weight of his vice grip into it's surface.

A _lifeline-_

Just like Javier is, when he turns and tenderly makes his way across the room back to him. Carefully convinces John's broken-knuckled hands to let go and hold on to _him_ instead, dragging him back towards the bed and pile of dirtied clothes. Let's him lean into the plush softness while they together work to get his clothes off, shaking, clicking joints slowly working apart buttons and cuffs and boots, until they are equally as bare. Skins slicked with the remains of the deer, of their own throughs of passionate rage, but there is no shyness. No inclination to look away. 

Shuffle together, shivering steps through the doorframe and into the bath-

_Fuck,_ John looks like shit. He can tell the remains of the deer still hang in his hair, shreds of white, rotten skin through the greased strands, mixed with blackened, old crimson. There is a gash at the bridge of his nose where Javier had clipped him, the entirety of his right eye socket swollen and purple-red, and he doesn't dare try to open it just yet. Blood runs a crusted trail down from his nostrils, dribbled across his split and scabbing lips. Red lines run rivulets across his face like rashes, pieces of his own skin having peeled off under the pressure of the nails that had wrought deep. In mirror he can see Javier hovering a few feet behind him, quieter than his usual _hush_ , and when their eyes meet the man winces slightly and limps away to the bath.

There is a quiet, both comfortable and strange, between the two as the water fills. It's the first time John really just has nothing to say on his tongue. No passing remark, no scorn, no sneer, no sense to _fight_.

And by the looks of him, Javier is in about the same position.

There are calloused, bare hands on his elbows in the next second, pulling him away from his thoughts staring back at him through his reflection. Guides him, his hands, to grasp the edge of the white, facing the clean water before him bloom with pink as they both manage to convince his legs to stumble in. Javier helps him settle, soft hushes purring from his lips whenever the wolf grimaced in its ragged _pain_ , until he's curled up and as comfortable as he can manage to be. There is nothing but the sound of shifting water in John's ears, aimlessly staring at the flowers of pink and red scattering through the water, invading the crystalline water. It feels like years and like seconds when the surface is broken by Javier toeing in, scratches up and down the length of his limbs, hissing quietly as the warm water soothed over them. Delicately, the man situates himself between John's legs, skin settled with the barest brushes together when he turns with soap in his hands.

Eyes _dark, searching..._

Asking.

John can only manage a nod and there are wet hands running through his hair, obediently collapsing to every shift of Javier's joints and muscles that work him over. Brush ragged flesh from his hair, delicately wipes the bloodied trails down his sore lips, carefully work the dirt and sweat off the rounds of his lean, wiry frame, ridding his nails of debris and flesh. There is something about seeing those weathered hands splayed against his skin for something _other_ than to maim it is... _odd._ To say the least. But the wolf is too tired, too _gone_ , to care anymore.

Lets himself have this. Just this once, just... _this once._

Carefully works the bar from Javier's grasp, gestures for him to _stay._

Stay.

And the man does. Stills himself when John reached out for his skin, watches placidly as calloused palms convince the grime and grease off of him. Delicately dab at the purpled expanse of his abdomen, pull Javier's legs up along the basin of the tub and he _lets it happen_. Falls vulnerable and open, allows John to run the lengths of the slashes stung into his calves, ensuring their cleanliness before he's returned to the water and fingers trace the ragged left-behinds of the gash through his forearm. Together, they wash it, Javier's teeth  _grinding_ and there is a low, breathy growl in the back of his throat as they pick dirt and rock spillage from it. As gentle as they can be, but unrelenting in their pursuit.

It's when John's hands are working over the crackled and bruised knuckles bloomed across him that he shifts. _Careful_  in the turn of his skin until their palms are pressed together, curls his fingers through the gaps of the other's, slow and entranced. The wolf had paused for it, stared just as dream-like-

Then he's drawing in a heavy inhale, like it all _hurts_ , and he's pulling away but not quite. Dislodges his fingers from Javier's and slides his body down the red-running edge of the white, closes his eye and lets his head fall beneath the water. Contents in the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, steady and strong, and thinks of the man still pressed against him. Was he watching? Peering down at him through the film? _Wondering_ , like he was? He would've opened his eyes but he doubted their soreness would appreciate soap suds applied directly to their surfaces. Allows himself just a few, a few _seconds_ to himself. And then he's coming back up, and he just manages to get the front of his face above water to take a gasp, uninjured eye blinking open, before-

Javier is _close, so close._ And there are _lips_ , lips pressed against his, sores meeting cuts and cuts meeting sores, wincing with the pain but unrelentingly _soft-_

John's being pushed down and the man hovering above him allows him just a moment to gather his breath through his reconfigured nose before pushing down, _down,_ back beneath the water. Feels the back of his head lightly bump the bottom of the basin, completely submerged, and Javier follows him down without letting his lips free. Holds, _holds_ , just for a moment where they're both beneath the _stillness._

Then they're arching up again, slow and steady, and John is gasping against the feeling of Javier's tongue swiping against the cuts across his lips just as they break the surface again. Water drips down them both, dark hair plastered to their faces, slick and shiny beneath the oily light cast by the candles lit around the room. See it in each other's eyes when they open, peering and _searching and_ expecting. Looking for the _pain,_ expecting it. _Waiting_ for it. Waiting for the other to lash out, to yell, to _hurt._ But it never comes, from either of them. It's just them, sharing breaths, hesitantly licking across teeth, softly pulling at lips with gentle presses, until the water runs cold around them. They get out together, sated in a _different way_ , and once more John feels that fluttering flame's touch beating beneath his ribcage, but he _can't say anything._ Not yet. Refuses to be the one to break this calm, this _stillness,_ the softness he hasn't felt in years- he can't even remember the last time, actually. They dry off silently, slathering ointments from their satchels over their injuries, wrapping tight. Gently coax John's left eye open once the swelling had gone down- he can still see, clearing steadily the longer he keeps it open, and they are both confident that there is no other damage to him aside from aesthetically.

Take the bottle of whiskey off the bedside table, settling naked and quiet on the bed, sharing it together until their stomachs are warm and the residing _aches_ in their bodies ebb into white noise. Javier lights one of his cigarettes, the sweet-burn smell cloying into John's senses, and the _question_ lays as thick as the deep inhales of secondhand smoke he's greedily drinking in from every part of the other's lips. He keeps it in, holds it back, and contents in the _familiarity,_ the _pleasantry,_ of the smell. Feels it curl heady and heavy in his abdomen, but even his body is too tired to fully react, adrenaline long washed out-

Turns his head to _watch_ and is confronted with lips against his again and there is _smoke_ pouring over his tongue when his mouth opens, chasing the whisper Javier breathes into him. It's a bittersweet taste and he is confronted with wondering if that's what the other man's _skin_ tastes like, whimpers softly. Almost presses forward to find out, but they're both too exhausted, too _gone,_ to do anything else. To _be_ anything else. Not tonight. And John creakily settles beneath the softness of the blankets, the press of a real mattress into his spine a welcome luxury they hardly ever get to have, and lets himself fall slack and _calm_ against the pillows. Lets his eyes slip closed again, pacing his breaths to what he can hear of Javier's rhythmic puffs, and _itches_ to feel the cigarette smother its embers into his skin. Lets his thoughts fall away from his grasp, content to have his brain as empty as Arthur claims it is. It's a welcome feeling compared to the usual _anger_ and _spite._ And all of him is filled, _filled_ with Javier's presence when he chokes the butt of his cigarette on the side dish and carefully slips beneath, alongside him.

On their backs, and one might say being broken is their excuse for their _gentleness_ , their  _placidity._ But it would only be an excuse, for the truth was much more choking- that they both _wanted to be here_ , together. John can't deny his fingers when they shift beneath the covers, _searching_ , and feeling such an immense relief when Javier's rise to meet him, entangled together once more. And they lay like that, heartbeats matched and breathing _quiet_ , pulses beating against each other through the press of their wound wrists pressed close. 

It's the last thing John is aware of before he's floating away from shore, buoyant on warm clouds, falling into sleep with Javier's heart an undercurrent of _comfort_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a sickly fume building in his abdomen with every burning smoke Javier purrs into the air, clouding each and every one of his senses. It permeates him, settles under his ribs like thick fog, and he just wants it to _stop_. It's too much, _too much_ , and he's doing everything he can to push it out. To beat back the cloud of fruity tang that's being dragged over his tongue with every inhale, like the man beside him is pushing himself into his very _skin_. Captured, unable to escape. Doing everything, _everything_ to quell the beat,
> 
> _Beat,_
> 
> **_Beat,_ **
> 
> _Of his heart_. Throbbing terribly, in something _other than anger_ , and he has no natural defense against it accept to _fight_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bring you gifts of more porn

It has been ages, _ages,_ since he'd last woken up with a plushness pressed into his spine, lulling him into a sense of false security. Of  _softness,_ a luxury his life hardly ever allowed- and yet, here he was. Shivering into wakefulness, the rasp of his own breathing _loud_ in his own ears, in the way he blows it into the air and winces at the _waves_ of pain that press warnings into his skin. With the stinging, jagged jerks of pain and scraps lurching his conscious awake far faster than he likes, he is made all the more aware of his surroundings. Becomes aware of something heavy, _foreign,_ splayed around the expanse of his stomach, shifts with every twitch.  
  
Manages to wink open his eyes, relief in that the swelling had gone down enough for him to properly _see-_  
  
Haggles his muscles into cooperation, tests a look _down-_  
  
And is once more hit with the very real, potent memories of the night before. Skin bared to the sunlight filtering into the room, John catches the vision of a bandaged, whiskey-toned arm thrown over him, a delicate weight and yet the pressure of it on his conscious _staggering._ Damn near catches his breath up again, desperate to avoid it in the possibility the other is _awake._ Slides his head slowly to the side, searching, and is confronted with Javier's face _so close,_ marked on one cheek by an ugly, purple-yellow bruise and ointment-dried gash _._ Purchased on his pillow, curled up against his flank, ink-black hair falling in light folds over his slumbering face, whispers against the wolf's shoulder. _Vulnerable._ Utterly defenseless in every way and the whole thing hits him so hard in the chest that he has to close his eyes to still the feral, survivalist _panic_ that wants to well inside.  
  
It is a marvel that neither one has killed the other in their sleep, especially considering how damned set they'd been on it when they'd been holed up in the cabin with the rest. Gazes _watchful,_ always waiting for opportunity to put the other in their _place_.  
  
Now they were here, perfect opportunity, and yet neither had moved on it. Perhaps it was because they'd burned it all out with every punch, every _bite,_ when they'd been rolling out like rabid dogs in the desert with nothing but the moon's disapproving glare and the millions of star-eyes as their witnesses. The full brunt of it weighed over his body, every shiver of muscle igniting a fiery _ache_ , and John raises fingertips to delicate prod at his own skin. Feels the ragged marks, the swell of his eye, winces as he knocks into his own nose far too hard than it's able to handle at the time-  
  
_Freezes_ when there is movement at his flank, an uptake in the breath puffing against him. Looks with wild eyes at the man next to him, feels fingers curl into a fist over him, and watches Javier's face tremor with signs of wakefulness. Waits, _waits,_ and stares at the way the way eyes dark as bitter coffee flicker open, glassy and _soft_ , blinking against the suddenness of the light streaming into the room. John is at an utter loss for words- hell, he couldn't think of a damn single thing to say, to even _think at all._ Any semblance, any inclination to even _try_ was lost at the steadiness of the eyes peering into his. Gazes _locked,_ testing, suspended in waiting. Expecting the other to lash out at any moment, to take advantage of their compromised positions.  
  
Neither one does.  
  
And there is something off in Javier's eyes as he achingly _slowly_ slides his arm off of John's stomach, palm hot and calloused over his skin and there is a tick in one of the muscles low on his abdomen, twitching like a rabbit's foot batting in warning signal. Feels like he's prey to the coyote that watching him with a curious interest, an intent  _narrow_ to his gaze. Shuffles the covers and blankets off them, slips up and out, and leans against the headboard with a wince, fingers reaching for the famed cigarette carton still on the bedside table. And John finds his gaze wandering, feels almost _boyish_ at the flush that threatens him when he realizes they're still both naked- follows the lines and curves of the other man, focuses on the bruised mass that was the honeyed stomach so near to him. So close he could reach out and _touch it,_ if he wanted to.  
  
Did he want to?  


 

" You look like shit, cabrón. "

 

... Maybe.

 

" Like you look any better. "

 

The snap back feels familiar, feels like what he _knows_ is usually between them. Distracts him from anything else that could've been coming up, welling in his throat. Good riddance. He manages to pull himself up to a sit, grumbling irritably as every jostle of his own muscles streaks pain through his system, sore and aching all over. Can't help the _growl_ that he emits as Javier nonchalantly lights another cigarette beside him and smokes it as casually as if John had been a midday fuck,

 

" Wouldn't've been in this goddamn mess if you had moved quicker... "

 

Catches the tips of his hair in his lips as he speaks, chews furiously at it before it decides to leave him alone, just like he wished _someone else_ would get the hint on. He can feel it, the shift in the air again, as the inhale of breath beside him turns sharper, ragged, and he can smell the smoke before his brain has even caught up that the man had spit back,

 

" Should've known how to handle two _doggies, lobo._ "

 

John sneers before he can think better of it, pulling at the tender and ripped flesh of his face, but it doesn't stop him, doesn't make him _waver._ Does not bring him to his  _knees,_ but pulls a hot twitch into his chest, and it only spurs him further like a whipped, caged creature,

 

" They weren't _little puppies,_ fuckin' _asshole._ I was doin' my job, gettin' money like we was told, and you shoulda' been helpin'! 'Stead you were chattin' it up with a little _kid._ "

 

There is a sickly fume building in his abdomen with every burning smoke Javier purrs into the air, clouding each and every one of his senses. It permeates him, settles under his ribs like thick fog, and he just wants it to _stop._ It's too much, _too much,_ and he's doing everything he can to push it out. To beat back the cloud of fruity tang that's being dragged over his tongue with every inhale, like the man beside him is pushing himself into his very _skin._ Captured, unable to escape. Doing everything, _everything_ to quell the beat,

_Beat,_

_**Beat,** _

_Of his heart._ Throbbing terribly, in something _other than anger,_ and he has no natural defense against it accept to _fight-_

Turns head just a touch to seek the man beside him, confronted that he is _far too close._ John's in too deep, too deep now, when Javier fits him with those blackened eyes _burning_ with the glint of the sunlight just catching between the dusted curtains, bringing forth the memory of his silhouette in the sunset that tugged something deep in his stomach-

There are hands on him in a second, cigarette forgotten in the ashtray, as Javier proves himself still strong enough to scramble. Hands wrap 'round John's throat, sinking into the already-bruises from their throughs before, hands curling into _claws_ as he lashes against the hold, digs into the biceps that come crashing down onto his collarbones. Slam into him, unguarded, taken advantage of, as he's forced back onto the pillows and _held_ with fingers pressed hard against his fluttering pulse. He wants to fight, _needs to-_

 

" I don't like your _tone,_ perrito. "

 

There are lips, _lips on his,_ chapped and ragged and cloyed with the scent of the smoke, berry-sweet and bitter-coffee, and invading his space, invading his  _everything._ The heat is pulling, _tugging_ in his abdomen because now his strength has returned, flooding his limbs with a twitchy energy that he usually toys into fighting for him. But this... this, this wasn't a  _fight._ Not the one that John was used to, not by a long shot. And he feels it, he _feels_ the slightest of hesitation in the man hovering over him, forcing him still. 

Waiting, actually _waiting._

There is something about the gesture that sets the hardness in his stomach alight, like the flicker of the delicate flames in the bath, and he's _burning with it-_

Lets his hands come up, palms calloused and hot over the other's bare shoulders, rippling into the black strands strewn over his face from the angle- touches, _feels,_ lets himself do something  _other than fight_. Drags his nails through the other's scalp, pushes up _hard,_ and something in him finds a slick delight in the echo of the gesture thrown right back at him. Rough and ragged, as they've always been together, all teeth nipping close to beading blood _._ It wars against his instincts, in his mind that is desperate to tell him to _get away._ The wolf is howling, torn, _torn with it,_ and he's lucky the shock of a slick _tongue_ against his lips is enough to distract him. Gasps with it, bares his teeth, sinks the ragged sharpness into the muscle until he tastes blood and he is absolutely _decimated_ by the resounding _moan_ that murmurs against him. Javier's fingers tighten their hold around his throat, he can feel his own blood rushing in his ears, as the man pulls back just enough to murmur _dark and hot,_

 

" Should teach you your place,  _pequeño lobo. Mostrarte quién está a cargo._ "

 

John jerks his face to the side to avoid the laps against his lips and finds that was _not the right choice._ Not when those lips meander the soreness of his cheeks, his stubble, holding back nothing and giving _everything._ The coyote's teeth _bare_ and _sink_ into the delicate, sensitive skin at the edge of his jaw and he _panics._ Feels the well of survival clashing with the unmistakable _heat_ in his abdomen, charging him into being a flayed, shuddery _mess,_ attempts to pull back-

 

" Aye, aye, está bien, _relax._ "

 

What is it of the soothing suave of the other's voice, sounding _thick_ like it's caught in his throat like a difficult swig of spiced whiskey, that instantly soothes the wolf? Lets John's wiring muscles _stop_ , to _yield_ under the pressure of the other's flank just barely pressed up against his. Stokes the fire back up, _up,_ the flames fanned in his stomach until he growls at the back of his throat and yanks Javier up against him again. Bites at his lips, copper filling his tongue when one of the other's cuts reopens- hardly seems to care, either one, lapping at the crimson beads like pretty jewels. Drinks it in, _savors,_ the smoke of each other. Nails rasping against skin, not aimed to maul but _tease_ this time, John's abdomen twitches when one of the hands around his throat slithers down the expanse of his chest to drawl aimless designs across his stomach, _pushing, pulling-_

Struggles to keep back the warning _yelp_ when those fingers dip into the divots of his hips and _pull,_ awakening the aches in his sore muscles, but soothing them all over again when it allows Javier to throw one of his thighs over his, pressing their stomachs together. It is met with a growl, half-hearted and without the usual heat, and John finds this a lot more enjoyable when they aren't _beating each other to a pulp in the desert._

Finds he likes this heat _better._

But, of course, the feral of his nature always seemed to bubble up, boiling up so steam purred from his maw on every exhale into Javier's mouth. Lets his hands roughly caress the other man's flanks- finds purchase- and _drags_ claws up the honeyed back, relishing in the resounding _snarl_ against his lips. The hand around his throat tightens, _tightens,_ and suddenly Javier is lifting himself up to stare, condescending and _heated_ down into the hard press of John's flinted gaze, hard and _challenging._

Should've known the man would _rise to meet it-_

 

" _Lobo desobediente._ Can't have that. "

 

With a strength surprising considering his wounds, the man descends on John with a fevered _harshness,_ the lingering around his throat a _threat._ One he can hardly keep track of when hands wind in the dark strands of his hair and _pull,_ ripping his head back against the pillow and holding them there, teeth coming down to trace the length of his neck, tongue pressed against his pulse points. _Erotic,_ is the word. Feels like Javier is tasting him like a delicate treat, rasps past it and _bites right back_ with his nails digging a little too hard into the hoverer's flanks, catching on some of the bruises and pulling a ragged wince of pain,

 

" You callin' me  _disobedient?_ Fuckin' _greaser,_ thinkin' I'm gonna submit to someone like _you?_ I know I'm dumb, but you downright _stupid-_ "

 

Javier's teeth are sharp when they fit right over the skin just beneath his jaw, sinking _hard,_ and his breathing is starkly cut-off, limbs thrashing briefly at the _pain,_ the unrelenting _pressure._ He's held there as hands brush down his, grab hold of his wrists, and _slam_ them into the bed, strength enough to shatter his wrists. Feels _good,_ in that terrible, terrible way, and John is struggling to keep his head above water. _Yanks_ a hand out from the other's cuff to lift up, fingers sinking into Javier's hair and _jerking,_ wincing at the drag of sharp canines against his own skin at the movement. Hauls him back, far enough that the wolf can regain some ground, whipping his lips into the juncture between throat and shoulder, biting _hard._ Draws blood again and keeps his hold even when the other takes the time to ripple his nails down John's chest, pinching at one of his nipples in a way that takes him off-guard.

Rough pulls, unrelenting and hard, and when a nail digs into the tip, he can't hold back the breathy _growl_ he murmurs against Javier's throat, heat pooling _lower-_

Fuck, _fuck-_

He flounders for his control- finds himself far too weak, physically and mentally, to put up the fight he wants to. He's tired- tired of _everything._ Tired of _hiding._ And, perhaps, though he would never admit it openly, tired of _fighting._ And John finds that no matter how ragged Javier's touches are, they aren't _really hurting him._ Because they're not _meaning to,_ and the fact that he can tell, that he _knows this_ without being told openly, suddenly means a whole lot to his heart because it begins to beat, _beat,_ fluttery presses into his ribs,

 

" Ah- a _real man_ would do better than this- "

 

Manages to choke out the challenge against Javier's skin where he's sucked purpled bruises into all over again, teething at the delicate, pulled skin and dragging unwilling _whines_ and gasps from the other's maw, panting against him. Finds pleasure in his power, in the fact the coyote was letting him against his throat, his _weak spot-_

Nuzzles the smoke-clogged skin gently, takes a deep inhale, and whimpers softly as the woodfire taste and charcoal fruit sits deep inside him- goddamnit, he's hard. Twists his hips away in an attempt to remain anonymous, but of course, Javier would _know better._ A hand curls brutally around his hip, fingers pressing blue-and-yellow into his skin, pressuring him into _stopping_ and he's held fast, can't flee, when the thigh between his own shifts _up._ And John goes stock-still like a bullet had just lodged in his chest, his teething pausing, his scratch-welling nails _pausing,_ as he's held suspended in the act as Javier's muscled thigh pressed right into his hardening cock. Can feel the man's own pressed against _his thigh,_ holy shit? They're both filling with blood _fast, real fast_. A million questions, a million _things_ just running through his head like trees flying by on a train, just stark enough he knows what they are, but too fast to fully make out the details. Muddled, _broken,_ and bares his teeth in _scorn_ when Javier forces his chin down, pushes their foreheads together.

Dark eyes meet darker, black against black, and the sunshine-sweetness of the room's lit decorum is a stark contrast to the coffee-scented _promise_ that is growled, deep and _heady,_ in Javier's chest in a way John has _never heard before-_

 

" I am going to fuck you so hard, you'll be crying. "

 

The promise sinks _deep_ into his bones like a sweltering fire, as cold as the deep-chill of the mountains, and there is a moment of _weakness_ in him when he can feel his eyes widen, heat suddenly throbbing _hard_ in his stomach. Can feel his hardened cock twitch against Javier's thighs, a breathy noise whispering softly from John's lips, and those bitter eyes peering down at him _soften._ Just slightly, but it's like watching a rose bloom in a blanket of thorns, full of lush promise and a kind of mirthful gentleness he'd never seen in Javier before. It hits him square in the chest, knocks his breath out, and the two _hover_ in suspense, in _waiting-_

There is something about Javier that, despite all of his roughness, he is _hesitating-_

_Waiting,_ for John's _approval._

Gets it in the form of a challenge burred, the wolf's teeth snapping to nearly clip his nose clean off-

 

" Oh _yeah?_ Fuckin' _try it, greaser._ "

 

He expected a growl back, some showy flash of canines, but instead was fitted with something akin to _reverent awe_ on his skin, Javier's voice like a _moan_ murmuring velvet off his tongue as a weathered hand grasped his nail-raked jaw, held him still, as the man leaned down-

 

" Oh, mi pequeño lobo, te haré rogar. "

 

Muscles shifted, feverish and _hard,_ as he struggled to keep his lips free enough to roar questions, to make this as _difficult as possible_ for this smoke-covered, burning-skinned body atop him- alas, found himself _outmatched._ There are teeth, teeth in him again, ripping into the cartilage of his throat, purpling bruises into the sensitive skin, unrelenting against the antagonizing thrashing in response. Works to keep John still, keep him _complacent,_ but of course even in something like this, they're moved to _fight._

To snarl and howl and growl.

And that's really what it was. The fight for dominance, claws digging into yielding skins, blooming reddened film over their bodies, so delicate and intricate that one could clearly distinguish it from the terrible marks of the night. To an onlooker, it would all appear quite _brutal._ All to be seen is their groans and growls, leaking deep and dark into the air, as they clashed again and again, drawing blood across their lips and pressing like lipstick into throats. But they couldn't see the _softer parts_ of it, the hesitations, the _waitings,_ and despite all the fiery, confident facades, it was clear both were _out of their element._ But far too heated, far too _gone,_ to stop.

Javier's dark hair tickles as it shivers down John's chest, raising a kind of sensitivity he hadn't realized himself capable of feeling in a situation like this. Tangles his calloused, bruised fingers into it, rasping unkind and rough into the man's scalp as teeth burr into a nipple, tongue circling unrelenting and tugging. Streaks crackles of energy down the length of his body, attempts to fight the _pleasure_ of it, but to no avail. It swarms him, overwhelms him, something as simple as this. Part of him boils in anger at how well the man is able to play him, teasing and touching in ways that has his legs shivering without his will, muscles spasming and running away from him. And John can't imagine this getting any _worse for him,_ until-

Oh, _fuck-_

He can feel every callous, every catch of skin, every scar, every twitch of tendon and ligament when one of Javier's hands finds the hollow of his throat to _hold him down_ as the other slithers down the length of his body and wraps hard and rough around his cock. It's dry, almost painful, but he finds that it's easier to handle than something _softer,_ something _gentler._ If there is an edge of pain, or promise of, the wolf finds itself in a better place- oh, how the _agony_ unfurled in his brain like blooming headshots when those fingers danced across his length, bringing him everything. Letting him _have_ everything, and it's all becoming too much, far too much-

 

" My, my, being a _good boy for me?_ "

 

That gets him going again, nails whipping punishingly across Javier's flanks just enough to hear him _wheeze_ in pain, hand tightening around his cock as the sensation rippled through him. A lash-out of proportions _they know,_ teeth sinking into the space just beneath the man's injured jaw as he _growls_ , petulant and antagonizing _,_

 

" You ain't my _daddy_. "

 

Fully expects Javier not to fully understand the statement, rips the hand around his throat off and leans up, _up,_ sinking teeth and lips into the hovering man caught off-guard. And John _relishes_ in the cracks in the confidence, biting down the length of Javier's throat, teeth needling one of the man's nipples just hard enough to feel the coyote's muscles _shiver_ beneath his vice-grip. But what he _doesn't expect_ is for the man to lean down, to  _allow him these touches,_ and murmur words slick, filthy, and _hot_ into John's ear,

 

" You and I... both know I don't have to be. "

He chokes, just a bit, and sinks his teeth that little bit harder and he can _feel it,_ can feel Javier's own cock twitch and throb against his thigh, his own burning _hot_ at the resounding, whimpering moan that burrs into the juncture of his jaw. Why, _why is he doing this?_ Why is he torturing John like this? Letting him get so close, so _personal-_

It wasn't unheard of for young, hot-blooded males like them to find some spitfire buck to go off with them into the back stock rooms of the saloons, fights settled with a few good jerk-offs to bait the simmering energy into something that doesn't end in a broken tooth or heavy bleeding (usually). 

But this... what is this? _What is this?_

John finds himself lost- has never felt so alone and so together in his life. Captured in the fact that he feels he knows Javier better than anyone else in this moment, and ruminating on that he had never once considered that this man was even capable of something like _this._ Doesn't understand it, doesn't know it, and it, for lack of better word, _frightens him._ Afraid of what might arise from the suckled marks that Javier is working in his chest, teasing his nipples into a peaked sensitivity he's only ever remembered from cold nights skinny-dipping when Dutch had found him so greasy that they'd simply thrown the raccoon in the shallow pond nearest their dwelling at the time. Afraid of the pure, heady _heat_ that ripples without his consent throughout his stomach when the hand wrapped around his length starts _moving again,_ hard drags up and down that suffice in having him leak over his stomach. Afraid of the suave softness of Javier's eyes when they watch him, the gentleness behind his bites that tease blood to the surface until John is flushed all the way down his chest. Afraid of the man's own shivers and moans- he's enjoying this, _enjoying doing this with John,_ and it's such a wild concept that he has no damn idea what to do with himself.

Tries to fight, _tries to-_

Is roughly pushed flat against the bed, held fast as Javier manages to push through the aching pain heavy in his bruised stomach to swing himself over John's hips like he's saddling an unruly mustang, flushed cocks pressed together in one fell movement. It wrings a sharp gasp from his lips, fingers dislodged from the other's body and settled in the sheets beneath his spine, gripping hard at the innocent sheets as Javier peers down at him like a _king,_ lordly and perhaps mildly condescending in the softness of his dark, dark eyes, maw opened in a pleased _pant._

Knows just how to keep John _down,_ by raking his hips back and forth, _back and forth,_ rubbing there lengths together in ragged _pushes_ and all the wolf can do is flail pathetically, helpless and vulnerable beneath the weight atop him. It's a lot, _it's too much-_

He wasn't built to manage things like this, not by a long shot.

And yet, when Javier's lips pry into his again, slick tongue slithering unpleasant and hot into his throat, he feels the fight leaving him. Feels it ebbing away from his desperately-grabbing fingers, trying to catch rushing water in his grasp- it's all slipping away from him. The _panic_ of it has his breath picking up again, blood a rushing roar in his ears as Javier digs _deeper_ into his body, consumes him like one of his foreign cigarettes. Everything is _burning_ and the fruity-scent is back, swathing his senses in the coffee bitterness, the woodsmoke scent that was just _him._ Charcoal-embers smudged like cologne-

Can feel one of Javier's hands leave his body, fumble with something on the table, and John finds it a wonder that the man can focus at all considering their current lip-lock. Decides, _decides,_ and his own hands are coming up and wrap both of their cocks together into his grasp, velvet-covered steal, leaking hot liquid over one another. Fuck, how did they get there so fast? Part of him felt far, far away, and yet every stroke kept him _here,_ kept him _present_ in their bed.

**_Sin?_** Never heard of it.

Not when Javier purrs against his lips, gasps ragged and pleased against his cheeks, and the wolf is near slavering over the state of him- of them both. Can hardly keep track of anything but the twitches of the coyote's hips against his, fucking into the tight grip he has on them both, and it knocks the rest of his breath out. Lets the other man take all of it, _all of it,_ and John whines in the back of his throat and arches his stomach as best he can upwards in search of more, _more,_ more. Needs it, is desperate for it, and there is cooing praise whispers across his teeth whenever they part. It catches him off guard in the same moment it pulls him under warm bathwater, feels just like the night before but _realer._ Things are moving fast, _so fast,_ and suddenly Javier's hands are back on his body, dragging them apart. And the wolf can only sit back and  _watch_ as the coyote shifts down his body, claws curling into the flesh of his thighs and _pulling,_ letting them rest together so Javier can settle between his legs. It's an odd position, something entirely new and _vulnerable-  
_  
There is something slick, _slick,_ running up the shivery muscles, the air perfumed with bittersweet smoke, and John realizes that the man had his previously-forgotten cigarette wrapped delicately between his fingers again. Watches the burning embers with morbid fascination as Javier takes a long drag, peering down at him with black eyes fit to _melt him,_ and his maw opens to make some kind of comment-

Is silenced in the same second as the coyote jerked into motion, lips crashing against his, and the burn of it fills his nose and brings tears to his eyes from the sting of the smoke lashing over his teeth. Every inhale is a beautiful _agony,_ lapping greedily after the powdered tendrils, and finds it's been a very effective distraction. Because John is allowed on a moment, only a second, to find comfort in the blackening fumes before he feels strong, nimble fingers dig deep into the skin just behind his balls. Tenses, inhales _sharply_ and finds more smoke is blown into his mouth, Javier's tongue lapping erotically against his, and he can't get a good foothold to get out of the situation. Even as his fingers jerk with fervor, he can't pull away, doesn't _want to,_ and he goes dead-still when those fingers move lower, _lower._ Is utterly taken below the surface of the water when he feels a lean, thin finger teasing against his asshole, back and forth, _back and forth._ Tries to think of something, _anything,_ but everything short-circuits when it curls up, _in-_

Stops breathing as Javier's finger sinks deep into him, burning a trail up his spine, pulsating in his cock where the coyote's is still pressed against. Leaking, _leaking-  
_  
And John is utterly decimated by all of it, lost in the feeling of a hand still covered in the dust from the cigarette consumed now wrapping against their cocks again. Callouses pulling them up, _up, higher and higher-_ he's throbbing _so hard,_ torn between wanting to rut and to run. Finds he can't do either, not with the man pinning him down like this, not when another finger joins the first and he _growls,_ deep and low in his chest. Bares his teeth, splits Javier's lip open again, and finding some source of comfort in the beaded blood seeping into his mouth and the pained whimper the inflicted emits at the gesture. If he's gonna let this... this _admittedly beautiful man_ do this to him, he wasn't going down without a _fight-  
_  
It's the thought that count, John supposed. Because everything went out the window when those pesky, meandering fingers become hard, _fucking him_ , and when they curl, it's _so much, too much-_ precum leaked a pearly trail down his stomach, pulsing and throbbing at just how _painful_ the pleasure was. Can't hold back the gasping moan that aches out of his jaw when Javier _doesn't stop,_ wrist twisting against the head of his cock, fingers jerking _deep_ into his body, pressing unrelenting against something that feels _so good-  
_  
Damnit, he really does have tears in his eyes because of this.

Looks down when Javier shifts with a broken moan, slick liquid leaking over John's cock as the coyote pulls back, shifts _down._ Lets his fingers curl slow, painfully slow, out of the wolf's body, instead trailing those very fingers up the expanse of shaking, shivering muscle beneath him and oil-slicked circling a nipple. Keeps him sensitive, keeps him _still_ with the pressure of the palm against him as there is a lull in the moment, like the calm before a storm. It briefly reminds John of just before they'd collapsed into battle in the desert dust, appraising and searching the other for _weakness_ before pouncing. He felt like _prey,_ but he could at least contend, that he had not been easy prey. 

 

_" Buen chico._ Be good and _stay still._ "

 

John can feel it, _he can feel it-_

Pressing against him, the tip of Javier's cock a blunt pressure _waiting,_ pausing just a moment, and their eyes lock, clicking together jerkily like a lasso around the throat. He's kept down, _down,_ as the coyote murmurs something inaudible and twitches his hips, just enough, it's _just enough-_ fuck- _fuck-_ John can only throw his head back and moan brokenly when the man sinks slow and dragging into his body, an unrelenting pressure that never gives in. He's stopped breathing, he can't pull in anything, not when he feels Javier's hipbones press tight against his ass and _hold._ Holds, settled so deep, John can feel the pulse, _pulse,_ _pulse._  Can feel the pure _heat_ of the other inside of him, fingers white-knuckled in the bedsheets, and he can hardly hear the soothing purrs murmuring shakily from the other's throat at the state of him. Bruised knuckles trace the length of his stomach, wrap around his length and callouses work to try to distract him from all of it, spreading the mix of their precum over his cock again and again, easing him into _breathing again._

John is allowed a moment or so to adjust, to realize that _this is where he is now,_ before he seeks Javier's eyes through the watery haze film over his awareness. Watches the man pant through an open-mouthed _smile_ down at him, hand never stopping the beautiful, edging stokes, as the other massaged the quivering muscles of his thighs. He's caught, _caught,_ when Javier's brows drawn closed in an openly erotic look, tongue slithering to curl at the edge of his mouth, voice a dark, velvet _purr,_

 

" Remember to breathe. "

 

What kind of fuck-all advice was that? It broke through some of the fog in John's head, prompts him to bare his teeth again and snarl weakly, folded and vulnerable against the bed. Doesn't get it until Javier leaves him desperate and leaking on his stomach to wrap the sticky, slicked hand around his throat again, pressing steady and sure around the cartilage as claws dig into the meat of his thigh, keeping him up and _open._ And then the coyote leans back on his haunches, muscles _tensing,_ and then he's thrusting with every ounce of strength he has into John's body. The wolf is thrown down with it, captured in wave after wave after _wave_ of feeling as the man fucks him with a feverish, desperate energy. Slick, _it sounds filthy,_ and the nails against his neck curl _delicately_ and he's gasping groans into the air, unable to escape. Wraps his own around the wrist beneath his chin, keen to pull it away and yet finding his fingers only curling like it's a lifeline. He hates, _hates_ how vulnerable he is-

And he loves, _loves_ it at the same time.

There is nothing but Javier's hips slamming brutally against his ass, cock a throbbing, molten pressure inside that makes his own twitch, near purpled at this point with exposed, teased blood vessels. Can't hold back the soft noises spilling from his throat at the sweet, sweet _moans_ the coyote bleats above him, lost in their togetherness. John can't believe how _open he looks like this,_ hovering over his body, hand a clasp around his throat, nails digging into the side of his leg, dark eyes melted like chocolate, watching every twitch, every shift of the wolf's expression. Greedily drinking in every unconscious whimper, every unwanted groan, every shivery gasp for breath.

But it is clear that it is _hurting-_

Javier's abdomen jumps with every thrust, steady-locked, but there are muscles fluttery and twitchy beneath the velvet whiskey skin, still swollen and decorated with midnight bruises and sunset yellows, an ugly mass that is just barely keeping him going- it's more pure willpower at this point keeping him upright. Pleasure and wicked pain shivers across his face at every movement, John watching him through the clouds of his own, and their vile, filthy sounds are in equal parts both. The thought rises, _toys,_ in the wolf's brain until he eventually convinces the fingers ripping shreds into the bedsheets to unlock and _shift,_ inching up until the flat pads are pressed against the jolting stomach. Pressures, _pressures,_ right into the purpled mass, not stopping even as Javier's breath hitches in pain at the sensation. Slows, _slows-_

And John can hardly believe his eyes when Javier _obeys_ the unspoken command and comes to a stop, pants bursting into the air, gazes watching each other _closely. Searching._ And the wolf eventually finds his voice, sounding distant and raspy and wrecked but present all the more,

 

" Come... come down _here._ "

 

Lets his palms wrap around the man's flanks, legs struggling just enough to dislodge the connection between the two. Uses what's left of his strength to coil about the torso and _tug,_ tossing Javier to the bed beside him, still mildly stunned at how _easily_ the man goes down. Can't tell whether it's because his muscles have given up in that very moment, or if he was actually doing what John was asking him to. Doesn't matter, either way. Or maybe it does? Fuck, no, not the time, _not the time-_ and there is a lingering silence for a long moment that feels like it's years long. Until, eventually, John tosses a look over his shoulder towards where Javier lay, suspended and frozen and _curious_ behind him, and makes an aimless gesture towards his own body,

 

" What? Get on with it. "

 

He braces for the teasing, the jests, the jabs into the weak spot he'd allowed himself to show for the man, but it never comes. _It never comes._ No, instead, Javier's presence is suddenly in his personal space again, delicate and slowly-encroaching like the best of a cowboy soothing a wild, untamed mustang. Allows John to feel his fingers first, spreading over his flank- lets him feel the bare, soft press of his stomach against the wolf's spine, allowing the man every opportunity to _run._ Not like he really could, not like this. Not when he was in so deep, _so deep in this._ Snakes his free arm beneath John's neck, allowing his uninjured forearm to be the pillow now, curling into John's hair and letting the man sink his nose into the crease of his skin, to _find comfort in it._ Taps calloused tendrils down the man's side, finding purchase beneath a thigh again and _hoisting,_ slowly dragging his leg over Javier's, keeping him _open and spread_ in a way that is somehow even more vulnerable than when they'd been facing one another. He almost backs out, _almost,_ but he can feel Javier's cock brushing the underside of his, smothered together in heat and leaking liquid. Feels the coyote shifting his hips back and forth, _delicately teasing,_ until the wolf gets _irritated,_ gets _short-tempered_ and growls into the skin pressed against his maw, teeth sinking warningly into the forearm.

John is not kept waiting.

Can feel fingers pressed against his entrance, keeping him steady and _open_ as Javier's cock slides forward in a slick, slow slide, filling him up again with a thickness he hadn't felt the first time. It wrings a gasp from his throat, fingers curling into the sheets again as he feels every _inch,_ every _throb_ of the man inside of him. It's softer this time, _hotter, wetter,_ and John damn near regrets his idea because this is far more breathtaking than before. Can only hold on for dear life, shredding the bedsheets beneath his fingers, threads popping achingly slow as Javier starts moving again, deep pumps of his hips that press him directly against something that feels _really fucking good-_

Part of him doesn't expect the tears when they come. But they do. Well traitorously in John's eyes after every thrust, tearing broken sobs from his throat as the other's hand curls steadily around his cock. Shifts back and forth, _back and forth,_ rutting like animals but there is a _sweetness_ involved like the fruit clinging to Javier's scent. Brings it into his lungs, feels the shiver in his body as a tongue toys up the back of his sensitive neck, teething and mouthing into his skin. He's permeated, _everywhere,_ with everything that is and was the coyote. And the wolf, despite all its regality assumed, wasn't equipped to handle such a thing. Not like this. Because this feels _too nice, too intimate,_ and John is once more hit breathless in the chest by how much this _wasn't a fight anymore._ This was something more, _more,_ and it chokes in his throat far harder than any palm could ever do, wet eyes buried deep into the angle of Javier's arm. Knows the man feels it, _feels it,_ in the way the weathered hand grasped in his hair strokes down his forehead, curling around his chin and forcing his head _back._

Catches Javier's eye. _Holds it._

 

" I don't- I'm not... I don't get this- _this._ This isn't... what I expected, I- "

 

John stumbles like a newborn lamb through his words, tongue feeling like heavy cotton in his mouth, saliva pooling ungrateful and sour at the back of his jaw. Tries, _tries_ to speak it, to spit the confusion out, but he can hardly manage anything when Javier's hips suddenly push as deep as they can and _hold._ Their legs are shivering, both of them, he notes. And that just makes it all the worse-for-wear on his poor heart, plodding and throbbing in his chest with a  _desperation_ that this, all of this, _is something more._ Damnit, he knows he shouldn't feel that way, of course he does. Worse, _worse,_ when Javier's eyes glimmer and slip closed as he moves forward, pressing his nose into John's hair and breathing steady and calming, pressing those stupid, delicate kisses into the back of his scalp. Words whispered too close to his ear,

 

" It's okay, John. It's okay, you're okay. I... didn't expect this either. But that's okay. We'll figure it out together, yeah?  _Estoy con usted._ "

 

The wolf laughs this terrible, barking rasp, lets the other man stroke down the length of his flank in soothing pets, lets him kiss into the vulnerable weak spot that was his throat, lets him _settle._

  
" I don't... speak _Spanish,_ you... coyote. "

 

There is a purr of amusement mumbled into the back of his neck, a face nuzzled into the junction of shoulder and throat, beckoning him head back further. Lets Javier's fingers press into his scratch-stained face to allow for a kiss, this time delicate and _careful_ of their perspective wounds and reopened splits, swollen lips and bruised tongues. And there is something achingly _fond_ in the coyote's face when he pulls back, dark gaze winking with the catch of the sunlight across them, pulling chocolate-gold into the pitch black, glinting something devilish. John allows the strokes against his chin, lifts his own fingers up to tangle into the back of Javier's head to pull him _down, close,_ and there are warm words murmured over his lips,

 

" I said _I'm with you._ "

 

Ah, fuck. John wish he'd hadn't asked, but here he was, feeling his heartbeat shiver beneath Javier's palm, and watching the other's _smile_ soften a bit. Meet once again, pushes and pulls of their lips, as fingers trail and grab hold of his length again, thumbing liquid at the tip and wringing gasps, _gasps._ And Javier's hips shift into motion again, throbbing steady and beautiful, and the wolf settles and _takes it._  Listens to the praise and coos in mangled English and Spanish messes pressed against his ear, breathing against his cheek-

 

" Hh, good boy- _ugh-_ good boy, John.  _Eres tan hermosa, te sientes muy bien-_ oh, good, good,  _eres tan jodidamente bueno_ "

 

Feels that familiar pull in his stomach that he's felt so many times in the past, but not exactly like _this._ Not with Javier pressing kisses and bites into his skin, not with a stranger's hand pressing hard and fast into his cock, not with the other throbbing and moving in _deep grinds_ inside of him. Powerless against the wave of it all- not like he really wanted to fight it, anyway. He can barely spit out a warning, body _shaking,_ as John feels his head being turned again and a tongue is pressed against his lips. _Allows it._ Whines desperately when those fingers create a hard, unrelenting _ring_ around him, effectively keeping him _pent up_ as those thrusts get harder, _harder,_

 

" Si, _si, te sientes bien?_ \- oh, **fuck-** you wanna _come?_ Ask, ask me for it- c'mon, John- Joder, joder, _me estás haciendo arder. Please-_ "

 

Fuck, John was far too _gone to hold it-_

 

" Goddamnit, Javier- _please, please-_ let me... let me _come, please -_ "

 

Javier's breath _shivers,_ a whimpering moan gasping from his throat, as his bruised abdomen jerked against the wolf's spine, fingers pushed into  _moving again._ Consuming, decimating, _burning_ John with every inch of him, ruining him for _anyone else,_ as the throbbing pains burst white flowers behind the cowboy's eyelids. Claws digging into the coyote's thigh, hand fumbling for the palm pressing steady against his forehead- _threads them together,_ a tight interlocking as Javier _whined_ behind him, rhythm stuttering slightly at the gesture. Moans openly when John tossed his head back, teeth bared, before his world _shattered,_ calling mindless and _desperate_ for the man groaning praise into his neck-

 

" Javi, _Javi,_ ** _Javi_ \- **oh, _fuck, please-_ "

 

_Shudders hard_ as he paints white ribbons across Javier's clenched fist, across the torn, ragged bedsheets, whining high and reedy in his throat, gasping for air and _sobbing with it._ The relief of it all, of having _done this-_ feels the coyote whimper, shivering into his _skin-_

 

" Oh, Dios. Eso es bueno, eso es bueno... Joder, joder, _John_ , no puedo parar. Good... _good boy-_ **unh-** _I can't-_ Lobo pequeño, voy a terminar. You're _so good, John-_ "

 

John beckons him wildly, grinning twitchy and _enthralled_ as Javier's thrusts stuttered into desperate bucks, rutting _hard,_ until he stumbled into a halt and moaned brokenly. Felt a different kind of _heat_ burning inside him now, both gasping for breath as they fought to regain their senses, to dispel the ringing in their ears, the spots in their visions. Slowly, _slowly,_ come down from their highs, wrapped up and locked together by _choice._ Search for one another- fingers spreading soothingly over shaking muscles and tense skin, kisses relaxing and full of _fondness,_ of _praise,_ and that was enough. That was all they needed, all they wanted, and they _had it._ Had each other, and the thought is weighty but nonetheless _welcome._  When they break apart, John is once more filled with the soreness of his body, with a few added _stings._ Grumbles darkly, pushing away and struggling to sit up,

 

" Damn, Javier. Fuckin' broke me worse than ya' did last night. "

 

There is no heat in the words and Javier doesn't rise to the bait, simply wrapping his arms around the man's body and hauling him back against his chest, warm and calloused and sated. Flails weakly in the hold- settles fast when the coyote presses gentle kisses against his bruised, bitten throat, lips murmuring softly over his skin,

 

" Sorry, _lobo._ But I did warn you... "

 

Laughs into the air when John turns on him, fingers slapping against his face, rasping threats back into his face. It's amusing. It's _familiar._ And now, with these shared hours... there is an undercurrent of  _understanding_ that far overshot what they'd had before, grappling in the dirt in the middle of nowhere. Hisses softly when Javier pulled out from him, feeling his cock twitching in mild interest at the keen sensation but _far_ too tired to play into it. Not today. Maybe... maybe another day. The wolf attempts to get away, attempt to curl back into his defensive _bubble,_ but he's held still by palms on his hips and short words to _wait._ Forced to watch as Javier shifted from the destroyed sheets, hand held protectively around his bruised abdomen as he limped towards the bath. Disappeared for a moment or so and John took the time to peer down his own body, nose _wrinkling_ at the masses of bites and cuts covering him now. His length is still sensitive and red against his thigh, light imprints of the coyote's fingers mapping his hipbones, and he finds he isn't... _all that upset_ about it.

Not as much as he probably should-

_Jerks_ when Javier returned carrying a rag, aimlessly gesturing to the wolf perched on the bed, wary gaze not outrightly _distrustful... waiting._ Expecting something, but what, neither one knew. And John is swiftly planted onto the plushness again, struggling momentarily as his chest in pushed into the bed, but freezing to feel the _rag_ against him, wiping him up and down, up and down. Soothing coolness across his battered body- _flinches_ when fingers find his entrance again, teasing, _teasing._ Carefully opening him up again, the strange feeling of _leakage_ swarming his senses, as Javier steadily worked his own cum out of his body and not letting him escape the sensation until he resigns himself to lay still. Waits, more patiently than usual, for the man to be done. Feels him pull away, sits up-

_Hovers_ in space, _hesitating,_ before deftly plucking the cloth from Javier's fingers, meets his confused stare with a quirk of his brow and a motion to _still-_

_Pleased_ when the coyote obeys, sitting languid and relaxed at his side, allowing John to work over his body, swiping away sweat and soothing the burning aches of his stomach. Brush blood and grime off one another again, carefully fixing and putting themselves together again but with the added _this._ Cradles one another's injuries, their shattered pieces, and wrapping it all up again like nothing had ever happened- from the outside. But to them? There was a lingering softness between them now. Languid and drowsy but _there,_ heat settled in their hearts. Throbs alongside the easy adrenaline when the two carefully picked the lock of the room next door, casually stealing the snoring patron's clothes and making off with the goods (and a wonderful money clip and silver ring). Throw their clothes on quickly, leaving the room a mess as expected, and _go-_

John is paused at the doorframe by Javier's fingers brushing against the back of his knuckles, prompting a turn- right into a kiss, a gentle press of sore, bruised lips but _there._ Neither pulls away for a long moment, content to simply exist in _this_ again. When they break, those dark eyes burn brightly into each other, searching and _pleased,_ and the wolf scoffed and gently cuffed the coyote over the head with a paw. Lightly, something _teasing,_ and Javier finds himself smiling along to the cowboy's wry, untamed  _grin_ thrown his way as the two trembled down the stairs. And, so casually, mount a pair of horses so conveniently hitched up near the hotel's door- making off with straight backs and lowered, brooding visages- looking intimidating, mean, and no one questions them in the sleepy, muddy town as they make off into the desert again.

 

...  
" You're a goddamn _idiot, Marston._ Coulda gotten yerself _killed,_ or worse! "

 

For once, John isn't particularly irritated by the tongue-lashing Arthur was laying into him from where he paced back and forth, _back and forth,_ like one of those caged, muscled lions in picture books he'd seen before in passing. Blue eyes _fumed,_ but the wolf didn't bite back, and instead simply shrugged his lean shoulders and muttered half-hearted apologies to the ears around. To Dutch, who leaned against the cold, worn fireplace of the dilapidated cabin with an exasperated amusement only a charlatan father could convey. To Hosea, who stood with his arms folded and leaning against a hip, narrowed gaze keen and _watchful_ of the wolf's every move. And to Javier, who was settled beside him- having also been scolded for the past ten minutes since they'd wound up on the homestead's doorstep, dusty and hot and tired. 

Eventually, the pair's scruffs are let go, the lion stalking off with a gruff shake of his mane and a grumbling growl deep in the chest, gaze stark and _warning-_

It didn't go unnoticed.

 

" Ah, well, at least you made it back with the money. A good catch, I might add. "

 

The silver-fox mused quietly, fingers rolling over one of the pearl-beaded necklaces the boys had dragged in from their satchels, seemingly pleased despite the situation-

 

" _See?_ I told you John and Javier would work together after they got their... well, _burning anger_ out. Good job, boys. "

 

Dark eyes _winked_ at them, completely unawares of the real reason behind some of their cuts and bruises, and when there are no longer eyes upon them, the pair slink one another knowing, funny glances. Amusement quirked at their lips, excusing themselves with all the casualness in the world, to shimmy into their shared bed space- another forced put-together constructed by Hosea to force them to _get along._ Well... hadn't exactly worked in the end, huh? But, at least they had another use for the _beds here,_ for as long as they remained-

And John lets himself be pulled down when the door _clicks shut_ with a finality in the air, intertwined with Javier's lap on his bedroll on the floor, and rests their heads together. Calm, _calm,_ and it is far better than the angry _growls_ they'd once sent- better, much better. And when their lips meet, soft like a secret whispered for their ears only, John contents in that the wolf had not been easy prey. Contented that between the two of them,

The wolf and the coyote were far more similar than different.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look at this beautiful art! please go flood Munchy with love here:
> 
> https://twitter.com/m_u_n_c_h_y/status/1101691981858832385


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